


No Way to Turn Back

by FoxglovePrincess



Series: Tumblr Tales [2]
Category: The Devil All the Time (2020)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Dark, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Smut, Road Trips, Time Travel, cursing, man-handling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxglovePrincess/pseuds/FoxglovePrincess
Summary: First, your car breaks down in a literal ghost town. And it just kinda gets worse—and weird—from there.
Relationships: Lee Bodecker/Reader
Series: Tumblr Tales [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037124
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	No Way to Turn Back

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Lee Bodecker fic. I don’t know where it came from, it just popped into my mind and now here it is. 
> 
> (title taken from a quote in the book: The Devil All The Time by Donald Ray Pollock)

The town of Knockemstiff is small, a little blip of a ghost town in Ross County, Ohio, but it’s where I find myself stranded when my car breaks down. The towing company isn’t keen to find their way in my direction right now—and, of course, leaving someone stranded in a ghost town is perfectly acceptable. How could I be so silly?

A disgruntled sigh blows heavy over my lips.

This is what I get for taking an impromptu road trip on the search for excitement, for something different. A whole lot of headache.

My fingers tap on the screen of my phone, back leaning against the door of my car. If I only had AAA, like my sister said, I wouldn’t be in this mess. My head rolls back on my shoulders, peering up at the cloudless blue sky. At least it’s nowhere near dark out.

“Well,” I mutter to myself, tapping the side of my phone against my palm, “there’s nothing for it.”

With another sigh, I shove my phone into my pocket and turn in a circle, looking for a direction as good as any other to start exploring. Anything to pass the time and keep the anxiety at bay.

The woods surrounding the ghost town are dense and uneven, but my feet step sure as they wander through. Snapping a few pictures on my phone as mementos of this somewhat inconvenient situation, my lips part in a smile at the unexpected upside. At least it’s just a little beautiful here.

I keep walking through the woods, eyes capturing the things my phone won’t and enjoying the nice breeze that’s blowing past. It’s so silent, peaceful. A girl could get used to this.

Then my stomach grumbles, interrupting the moment as the first pangs of hunger grip me. And my salvaged good mood vanishes.

I was supposed to be a county north of here by now, where I could find the quaint little diner that had been getting so much attention recently. Sure, I wasn’t a foodie or really interested that it had been open since the 1930s, but if it was still getting good reviews and lots of praise, that meant a meal on the road that wouldn’t end with food poisoning.

My hand rubs over my tummy, pressing gently in an attempt to silence my stomach. Not that it works.

I turn on my heel, facing back the way I came to search for my car and the snacks I have shoved under the passenger seat.

“What are you doing here?” A voice calls, coming from behind.

I swear my feet lift a foot off the ground as my hand clutches my shirt over my thundering heart. No one had been out here but me. I was sure of it.

Spinning slowly back around, the sight of a man greets me. Tall, soft around the middle, keen eyes set in a handsome face, but intimidating nonetheless in his sheriff’s uniform. I swallow thickly and give a small wave.

“Hiya,” I greet with a strained smile.

His face doesn’t twitch from his unamused stare, though he does juggle the toothpick sitting in his mouth from one side to the other.

My feet fidget beneath me, shifting my weight as I wait for him to say something more. His brow cocks in a question and I realize _he_ is waiting for _me_.

“Oh, uh.” My hands clasp in front of my waist, nerves bolting through me. “My, uh, my car broke down, you see. So I was just exploring the woods?”

The man takes a step forward, sauntering with his hands resting on his belt. He sidles over to my side, eyes scanning my figure from head to toe.

“You’re alone?” His southern drawl twangs quite nicely, smooth like a good bourbon.

I nod, eyes following him as he circles me, the thump of his footsteps heavy on the leaves that cover the dirt. He stops his steps in front of me, much closer than he was before.

“Well, you’re on private property, and Old Man Dawson was lookin’ to shoot you for trespassing,” he explains with a smirk. “You’re lucky I got him calmed down enough that he decided not to.”

I gulp, eyes widening. “Tha-thank you. I didn’t realize. Really, I’m so sorry.” The man’s eyes squint, steely and scrutinizing. “I’m going,” I promise, backing up a few steps. But then pause.

Knockemstiff is supposed to be a ghost town. There’s no way I’ve walked far enough to be in the next community. My brow furrows as questions assault me.

“Come on,” the man says, grabbing my arm and beginning to forcefully escort me back down the path I had traipsed up.

I let him lead me, far too concerned with the inconsequential matter of the ghost town having a resident—and not on the more worrying matter that this man is strong, manhandling me, and none too pleased by the look on his face.

We eventually remerge from the woods, right back on the only road through town, right back where my car broke down. And my car is nowhere to be seen.

“God fucking damnit,” I curse, scrubbing my hand over my face. I trap a scream behind my teeth and stomp my foot. My head tips back as I shout, “Fuck!”

“Whoa, there,” the man says, releasing my arm and holding his hands up in a placating gesture, though his expression is far from tender. “There’s children round these parts. Watch your language.”

Incredulity washes over my features, absolute disbelief, as I turn to the man, ready to absolutely ream him.

But then movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye. A man stands in a window of the building across the road, stacking boxes on a shelf.

“I—” The word catches in my throat as my eyes scan my surroundings.

This is the same road my car broke down on, but this is _not_ the same place. The dilapidated store now stands tall and, yes, in weathered condition, but open for business. Men sit down the road around wooden picnic tables, exchanging stories and drinking beer from glass bottles. Women walk with vintage strollers over dirt pathways as they chat to each other and enjoy their afternoon.

My mouth dries and my head goes fuzzy. My knees give way, but the man steps in as I swoon, catching me around the waist and holding me steady.

“Be careful, now,” he chides, hold bordering inappropriately close as I drink in the scent of leather from his jacket and the hint of his sweat. “Don’t want you fallin’.”

Amusement dances in his steely eyes, the corner of his lip quirked upwards. He glances over my shoulder, searching for something.

“You said your car broke down?” he asks.

My head nods, stiff. “Yeah, but, uh, it’s gone now.” My hand gestures behind me, to the road.

Frustrated tears well in my eyes as my mind grasps at any possible explanation for what’s going on. A robbery, cult, prank show—or something worse? Because none of it is adding up in my mind.

“I see,” the man says, warily, hands still grasping me tight—tight enough to bruise.

And I am so out of it, I don’t even notice, or care.

The man across the road emerges from his store, fiddling with the dial on his old-fashioned radio, the volume crackling and raising. He takes a seat, pulling out a pipe and lights it.

Now, there’s no reason that my ears zero in on the noise, laser-focusing on the tinny speaker, but once I hear ‘ _1965’_ , dread washes over me. Is that for real? No one else looks surprised by the year.

My eyes dart to the man holding me, searching for some sort of sign. But he just stares right back, something brewing in his mind as he watches me, chewing on his toothpick.

Pieces start clicking together—the old fashioned radio, the vintage strollers, the people living in a ghost town, my missing car.

Something has happened, something very wrong. And I have no idea how to fix it. My hands start patting my pockets for my phone, but it’s gone, though I had just taken a picture with it before everything started spiraling straight into the Twilight Zone.

My breathing accelerates, heaving out of my lungs as I gasp for air. There’s no way. No fucking way this is really happening. My legs collapse under me, and the man grabs me tighter, supporting all my weight, our figures pulled flush together, his soft body pressing against mine.

“Hey,” he snaps, hand coming up to firmly tap against my cheek.

I blink.

His brows furrow, a frown sitting on his lips. He grabs my chin in his fingers, tipping my head left and right.

“You’re not from around these parts, are you?” he asks.

My head shakes, body going numb as I try to figure out how I’m going to survive being _fifty-five years_ in the past.

Determination hardens the man’s gaze. He nods and begins walking, guiding me toward a police cruises sitting on the side of the road a good few paces away.

“A pretty thing like you better come with me,” he insists, a flash of a smile twitching the muscles of his face.

“I don’t even know you,” I object, squirming in his grip until he pushes my back against the side of his car. The wind knocks out of my lungs as I meet his gaze, his tenacity met with my own fire.

His arms cage me in, breath blowing across my cheeks as he tilts his head, eyes fierce. “I’m Sheriff Lee Bodecker. And I’m gonna take care of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’ or wanna have a chat, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


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